My Normal isn't Normal
by ebonyheartnet
Summary: Harry has always acted differently, but, considering what his life has always been like, it's understandable. However, as his life starts to resemble that of an average teen, the difference between him and everyone else becomes more pronounced. Tags: MoD-Harry, OCD-Harry, Bi-polar-Harry, M/M lemons Trigger warnings: child and sexual abuse, self-harm, suicidal thoughts/actions
1. Fragile

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, Benedict Cumberbatch would play Snape, Harry, along with several other hot boys, would get 'private tutoring' during sixth year, and my fellow witches would all enjoy front row seats to Snape earning the title of 'Half Blood Prince'. Oh, and Tom would look like he does in second year, and eventually join the harem, while bringing in a few BDSM kinks. Since none of this has happened in the actual series, then I trust everyone to be smart enough to know that I only own the bill for my college classes.

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"If my normal isn't normal, how am I supposed to know?"

Harry Potter's thoughts have always been like an uneven see-saw, but, when his life was constantly unstable, it was perfectly understandable. After all, extreme situations merit extreme reactions, right? However, it seems that the prophecy forgot to mention that killing the world's greatest enemy would unleash his own. What happens when Harry finds out that no one can save him from the person just dying to hurt him

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"Harry?" Remus called through the door, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. "Cub, I'm going to have to come in if you don't answer the door." The sound of a muffled swear, followed by footsteps and the opening of a closet door, revealed that Harry was in his room, and probably still in his pajamas. Fabric continued to rustle until the door was opened by a slightly disheveled Harry. If the guilty smile on his face was anything to go by, Remus knew that he was at least partially aware of why he'd come to talk. After motioning for Harry to follow, he lead the way to the sitting room, where Sirius was already fidgeting in his seat. When he looked up, Harry wouldn't meet his eyes, as shame for making them both upset increased his feelings of guilt.

"Hey pup, how are you doing?" Sirius asked, trying to at least get a response from Harry.

"Fine Siri, I was reading in my room and just didn't even notice the time. Sorry for making you both worry, I really should get out of my room more," Harry said, with an apologetic smile.

"Cub, it's fine to read, but are you sure you're alright? I didn't see you at all today, and it's almost three in the afternoon. Did you even grab something to eat?" Remus saw the way the his face faltered for a moment at his questions before it turned sheepish as Harry looked away.

"I had breakfast around nine, but I'm not really hungry for lunch," was the rushed reply. Both men looked at each other, wanting to believe him, but knowing that something was wrong with that statement.

"You need to eat pup, it's not healthy to skip meals. Just something small, alright? KREACHER!" Sirius bellowed, and the disgruntled house elf arrived with a sharp crack.

"What does Kreacher's awful master want now? Kreacher is busy tending to Mistress' portrait!"

"To give you clothes," he dead panned, "But right now, I want you to go grab a quick lunch for Harry. Merlin knows he barely took a bite from his toast this morning." At that, Kreacher's face scrunched up in what could pass for a contemplative, or constipated, look. "What's wrong?" Sirius asked, curious as to why the usually derisive elf looked confused. As they spoke, Remus noticed that Harry looked as if he were trying to stupefy Kreacher with his eyes alone.

"Kreacher did not make stupid master's awful godson toast," Kreacher said.

"Well what did you make him?" Remus asked, eyes focused on Harry, who was turned to the door as if getting ready to bolt.

"Kreacher didn't make stupid master's awful godson anything, because Kreacher was never called! Kreacher was told never to come unless called, and Kreacher has not been called in days!" screeched the, now irritated, house elf. At this, Harry quickly rose and tried to sprint for the door. All those years of 'Harry Hunting' gave him the speed to out strip almost anyone, but, sadly for him, Sirius had been paying more attention than he thought, and snagged him by the arm before he could get past. Grey looked into green, and after a moment, Harry slumped back into his chair in defeat.

"Kreacher, do you mean to say that the only time you've seen Harry is when serving dinner?" Remus was loathe to fully confirm his worries, but things could not continue the way they were.

"Yes! Kreacher is telling stupid Master's annoying consort that Kreacher is not seeing his awful godson unless at dinner!"

"Remus isn't the consort," Harry muttered.

"HARRY!" Sirius squeaked, suddenly resembling a very ripe tomato.

"What?" Harry did his best to look innocent. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with that, although a quick silencing charm would be nice," he made a face, "I don't really need to hear how happily married you two are." A sputtering Sirius was a sight to see, and Remus, having joined the tomato club, was only doing slightly better. Kreacher chose this moment to leave with a resounding crack, thus dragging the adults out of their embarrassed silence.

"Alright, point taken. Silencing charms are now a requirement, but that is not getting you out of this conversation young man." Remus, having finally tamed his blush, looked directly at the fidgeting teenager.

"He's right Harry. We want to help, but you need to talk for us to do that. I know there's a reason, so can you tell us, please?" Let it be said that this was one of the rare moments where Sirius was true to his name.

"It's nothing really, I just don't feel hungry during the day," Harry said.

"Funny, considering that I can hear your stomach from here," Remus said disapprovingly. Harry had the decency to look abashed at being caught in his lie, but was no more forthcoming than before. Seeing that they were still getting nowhere, Remus reached out and gently turned Harry's head until he had no choice but to look him in the eyes. "Cub, I don't like being lied to anymore than you do. That being said, I know that this has to be hard for you, so I'm trying to be understanding. Could you please tell us why you've been skipping meals? I promise not to be angry, no matter what, and we both know that Sirius couldn't so much as try to get upset with you."

Seeing his godfather nod in agreement made Harry feel slightly less agitated, but he also knew that the truth could result in extenuating circumstances. If they knew exactly why he was so anxious about certain things, they were guaranteed to lose their tempers, and he wasn't sure that he could cope without resorting to drastic measures. Just thinking about it made him fall into his old habit of breathing so softly that no one else could hear him. From the ripe age of three, Vernon had come up with several creative punishments for when he was 'disturbing the family with his freakish presence' by being too loud. Considering that being forced to drink copious amounts of salt water before being locked overnight in the cupboard was the best case scenario, it's no wonder he quickly mastered this skill. Freaks were burdens that were lucky to be given anything, so it was rude and ungrateful of him to remind them that they had to tolerate his presence in the first place.

Feeling someone shake him, Harry reacted on instinct and went perfectly still, remembering to keep his breathing near silent. The last thing he needed was to make Vernon think that he would react more than usual, because that would excite him more and possibly change punishment to 'play time'.

"Harry?!" Said teenager knew to never ignore someone demanding his attention, and so replied with a quick 'Yes sir.' As another hand pulled him into a hug,

The body holding him felt different from his Uncle, for one, there was no gelatinous mass threatening to suffocate him while hands started to explore, but the person holding him was still undeniably male. This wouldn't be the first time that someone else was allowed to 'play,' and, while it was always worse after months of being safe, at least with most of his Uncle's friends, he'd held some small hope that he could escape if they got too rough. This man was far too strong though, his arms were steel bands wrapped around him just this side of too tight, and Harry could feel the tension building in his limbs. Try as he might to control it, Harry's breathing sped up. He fell into a pattern of holding his breath between short bouts of hyperventilation as the roaring in his ears told him that his heart was beating against its cage as furiously as Hedwig would to escape her own. Harry could hear the anxiety in the man's voice, probably worried that he'd broken Vernon's favorite 'toy', which he knew would cost extra. He knew his Uncle liked sharing him, and loved selling him, but only if he was still kept in enough pieces to satisfy him when the other party was done. A hysterical giggle almost escaped at the thought that the only time any of his so-called 'family' gave two bloody shits about him was when he wasn't able to function as his Uncle's glory hole.

Wanting to help, Sirius pulled Harry onto his lap and started rubbing circles on his back, not realizing that it would be the straw that broke the camel's back. No matter how well adjusted he was to the abysmal conditions he had to endure, between the lack of nutrients, sleep and oxygen, Harry's body just didn't have enough energy to maintain an extreme stress response for any length of time. With his eyes welded shut, he couldn't see the darkness creeping around his vision, but it was welcomed all the same. Before it claimed him, Harry wondered what the man holding him would do while he was unconscious. He was trying to decide whether there was a chance that he'd just let him sleep when he finally passed out.

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Author's note: So this is my first ever work of fanfiction. I really want to work on writing this one so that I can get the skills that I need for some of the ideas I have for my original works. I am the first to admit that, while I love starting new projects, I suck at actually finishing things. Therefore, if you like this story so far, please tell me, and don't be afraid to tell me about any changes I should make, or ideas on how to go ahead. I don't have this story planned out, so deciding on what happens next might take a few days. In the future I'll try to set an update schedule, but until then, things will be sporadic. Lots of love to all the readers on this site, and I hope you enjoy this story!

PS: flames will be used to roast marshmallows for smores.


	2. Contemplation (how his back was broken)

Disclaimer: Since Benedict Cumberbatch is still not Snape, and I am still only a glorified babysitting college student, no one should have to tell you that I don't own anything but an impressive credit card bill, and several library books that I only found AFTER I paid for a replacement copy.

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When Harry cracked his eye open, he instantly regretted it. Opening your eyes in a bright room is a bad, bad idea. Wait... Bright room? Harry bolted upright so quickly that he nearly fell out of the bed he was laying in, which was another sign that something had changed, and probably not for the better. If they hadn't thrown him back in the cupboard, then where was he?! He hadn't done what he was supposed to because he blacked out, but that usually resulted in him getting beaten until he woke back up, not being left in a bed! He started hyperventilating as quietly as he could, because this shouldn't be happening, unless... Did Vernon finally get tired of him and sell him to someone else? A hysterical giggle bubbled up before Harry could contain it, and his mind seemed to dissolve into almost keening laughter as tears painted his cheeks. He'd finally gotten away, in however many pieces, and was being treated like another human being, and all that it took was a bit of fainting! Oh the irony! He'd forced himself to almost never pass out until they were done with him, because his Uncle had threatened to sell him to someone even worse, but his new 'owner' treated him almost better than everyone at Hogwarts. At the thought of his false-haven, his laughter took on a derisive and bitter quality.

At first, Hogwarts felt like a safe pace, somewhere that he could escape his 'family's' tender mercies and actually be happy. Bloody hell, there was even a class that was supposed to teach him to defend himself! The eleven-year-old had stared in wide eyed wonder at the new world that stood before him until he learned a few home truths about wizarding culture. Much like the American sport of baseball, there were three strikes before Harry realized he was just as bad off there as he was with the Durseleys'. Strike one- Harry discovered that this world wanted more from him than he could, or should ever have to give. He was basically forced onto the path of the sometimes-hero, sometimes-scapegoat, and told, in layman's terms, 'either walk this road or die'. Strike two- Snape proved that others could hate him for his ancestry just as much as his relatives. Despite it being the dungeon bat's fault that he was an orphan, because the git, who was such a kiss-ass that he was once practically rimming Voldie, told him part of the merlin forsaken prophecy, the sins of the father still damned Harry to be constantly ridiculed because he looked like someone he couldn't even remember. Sure, James was an ass that Snape wouldn't even kiss with rubber lips, but, considering the fact that he lead to the man's demise, as well of the death of his only friend _ever_ , it's just plain wrong to hold that against Harry, who wasn't even raised by the jerk! Finally, even if faith can't bend before it's broken, with strike three, Harry's was fucking obliterated. When he learned that he couldn't use magic over the summer, or even stay at the castle, the cruelty of it all was the last straw. In a master stroke that left Vernon applauding the wizarding world, someone had finally managed to beat the light out of Harry's eyes with the knowledge that he had the power to save himself, but was unable to use it, lest he be stripped of it and left in hell incarnate.

The sound of someone rushing up the steps broke Harry out of his painful trip down memory lane. Having already accepted that there was probably no way to escape without magic, he sat on the edge of the bed as calmly as he could pretend to be. So far, this new person hadn't been horrible, but then again, one of Vernon's favorite things to do when he was young was pretend to be kind so that the inevitable cruelty burned twice as fiercely. As the doorknob turned, he was about to shut down so that he would be properly numbed before the pain that was sure to follow, when the door opened to reveal a set of twin blurs that were frighteningly familiar. At the cries of 'pup' and 'cub', Harry's eyes widened in dawning horror as two things clicked simultaneously: 1.) He was at Grimauld place with his godfathers, and 2.) he'd had a flashback, and subsequent panic attack, right in front of them, and he had no way of explaining what the hell happened. At that moment, he began to seriously question if he was either Grindelwald or Hitler in his past life, because if the universe was even remotely fair, then he'd had to have done something truly evil his last time around to piss off karma enough for this to happen.

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Author's Note: Please, hold all rotten tomatoes until the end of this note, because I'm going to explain why this chapter took so long, despite its brevity. First of all, when it comes to dialogue, I suck more than the dementors in PoA, and dialogue is the only way to stretch this out. Secondly, I wanted to give some insight into Harry's thought process when it comes to things like school, the limit on underaged magic, and being karma's designated puppy to kick downhill into pointy rocks. Trust me when I say it'll make a difference later, when I'm writing from inside someone else's brain, because you'll have an idea of why he's reacting the way he is, while the other characters are grasping for straws. To be blunt, Harry's never going to outright tell them what happened in that house of horrors, so they're going to have to do a root canal before they can dig out all the bits and pieces of this shit storm. Last but not least, I have a few nasty surprises that are coming up, but I had to decide between letting plot bunnies for future chapters flourish, or neutering them to focus on chapter three. Mind you, none of this story is truly planned, I'm just channeling my more destructive urges that come about into angsty, depressing fanfiction. ^^' Did I already mention that I actually have both the conditions Harry will later be diagnosed with, as well as Asperger's syndrome? . No? Well, I can only get the urge to write this stuff in the time between my mood stabilizer being mostly out of my system and when the next dose knocks me out for 10 hours. Therefore, please... I don't want to say enjoy, but please try to get what you can from my own dark musings. And remember, reviews are welcome, and flames will be used to make smore's for my more polite readers.


	3. Patterns

Disclaimer: Since Benedict Cumberbatch has yet to be involved as Snape in the male harem of my HBP fantasies, and Moldyshorts still looks like he had one too many nose jobs before it fell off, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say I don't own Harry Potter.

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Sirius was the first to notice that something wasn't right with his pup. At first, all he saw were little quirks that just seemed unique to Harry: he'd jump at loud noises, flinch when someone would touch him unexpectedly, and he always made sure that everyone else had filled their plates at the table before he'd serve himself. Considering his past, it was understandable for Harry to be sensitive about certain things. Apparently, Lily's whole family was blessed, and cursed, with extremely good ears, and when taking into account the way Harry was raised, as well as his natural inclination towards DADA, his manners and instinctive reaction to unexpected touch were also explainable. However, as time passed, these quirks began to snowball, and certain behaviors had his instincts screaming that something was very wrong. Things like how Harry wouldn't bathe unless there was no one else on the same floor, how he stayed in his room all day unless someone dragged him out, despite the heavy bags beneath his eyes showing that he wasn't in there sleeping, and how he'd start to fold in on himself in certain scenarios.

In an effort to pull Harry out of what he and Remus had thought of as a small bout of depression, they'd given him just a few chores around the house to keep him busy. It was nothing major, only a load of dishes a day, and handling his own laundry. The problem was, Harry had trouble with anything related to the kitchen. He'd sometimes take half an hour to do only a few pots and pans, while at other times, he would systematically clean almost every inch of the kitchen, all without washing a single piece of silverware. As if this wasn't odd enough, his moods would also be rather dramatic as well.

Most of the time, Harry was morose, to say the least. He'd try to smile and go through the daily motions, but it seemed like the little things would weigh him down to the point of him retreating further and further into himself. To see someone who had inspired him to persevere, no matter the odds, look so downtrodden broke Remus' heart. Harry had always come across as fiery, with a will too strong to be bent, let alone broken, so this change was both drastic and unexpected. On the rare occasions that he'd act more like he normally would, the light in his eyes was almost… chaotic. Certain things seemed to bring out a side of him that was very hyper and energetic. To quote Sirius, he'd act like 'a puppy on pepper-up,' which was almost disturbingly accurate. Watching him fly was panic inducing on a good day, but the rest of the time, it was simply terrifying. Harry would always push his broom to its ceiling, then sometimes force it to go even higher, before practicing loops, dives, and sometimes have bouts of flying upside down with only his legs clutching the broom. This would last for as long as he and Moony could bare to watch before they asked him to come down, but often it was enough to bring back a real smile for at least a few hours.

In the air, you could see Harry burning at both ends so brightly that you could almost ignore the shadows all around him, if only because it looked like he was about to go up in flames at any moment. As much as it terrified his godfathers to watch him be so reckless, they knew it was one of the only ways to get him close to being the Harry they'd known for so long. While the boy that they lived with was still the best thing to ever happen to them, they knew he was suffering, and they were both beginning to see that he needed more help than they could give alone. This… panic attack, or whatever the hell someone wanted to call it, was the last straw. They needed to have Harry talk to someone who could help him, ASAP. While planning to fire call Poppy for a recommendation was all well and good, there was still one glaringly obvious thing that had to be done first…

"Pup, are you alright now?" Sirius asked. From the way Harry's face lost the little color he'd had to begin with, he took that as a resounding 'NO'. At the sound of his godson's breathing growing more ragged by the second, Sirius changed into Padfoot and dived into his arms like he had when he was about to cry as a baby. Sure enough, Harry clung to him like a lifeline and buried his face into the thick fur, trying to get himself under control. After a few moments, he was calm enough to follow Remus' instructions to try matching his slow, deep breaths, which finally allowed him to be able to speak.

"Is there any way that I can convince you to forget what happened earlier?" Harry pleaded.

"No cub, we need to know so that we can help you. Please, can you give us some idea of what happened yesterday?" Remus almost begged. For a moment, Harry was surprised that he'd actually slept for any length of time, and it must have shown on his face, because Remus admitted they dosed him with dreamless sleep after seeing how exhausted he was.

Harry was tempted to tell him the truth, but something held him back. The reason that the sorting hat had wanted to put him in either Slytherin or Gryffindor was because of his uncanny ability to, if given time to think, look at all the far reaching consequences of certain actions he could take, and then choose the one that would do the least harm, no matter the personal cost. First of all, it would be beyond mortifying to admit that, while he could kill the most powerful dark lord in centuries, he was helpless against a man with more blubber than some whales. Secondly, and more important than his pride, Remus would be euthanized like a rabid wolf for what he would do to Vernon, and Sirius would actually earn his cell in Azkaban this time around. Not to mention that, if this ever got out to the public, the movement to view muggles, muggleborns, those with creature inheritance, and half bloods as equals in the eyes of wizarding society would take a death blow because of those involved in this mess. All the bigots and sheeple would think that muggles were like the Durseleys, that all creatures would go rabid if they were allowed children that were so much as slighted, and that all muggleborns and half bloods were raised with this type of savagery being allowed. Then there's also the problems with mob justice, because of who Harry is, and the fact that heads might literally roll in the mob's quest to find out who was responsible for leaving him with those people. As satisfying as it would be to see Fudge and Dumbledore's heads side-by-side on a pike in the short term, he knew that there would ultimately be fallout for anyone who'd been remotely responsible for his wellbeing. After taking just a few moments to think about how badly things could turn out, he swore to never tell them what his life was like before he killed Moldyshorts and was able to live with them.

"It was just something I remembered from a nightmare. A really bad, vivid nightmare," Harry said with a wry smile. Nightmare indeed, too bad that the light of day only left him to clean up the aftermath.

"Harry, that would be more of a night terror than anything, and I don't believe it's the complete truth. For something to be so powerful that it can incapacitate you at some random moment, it has to have some basis in the real world." Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. Merlin it was hard using tact when he just wanted the answers so that he could help his cub! "I'm not going to push for all the answers right now, but I want you to know that both Siri and I are worried about you. Please, give us what we need so that we can help you cub, because it's tearing us apart watching you get worse every day." He tilted Harry's chin up so that he had to look him in the eyes, and saw a bone deep sadness in the emerald orbs swirling to mix with a few sparks of determination. As Padfoot nuzzled into Harry's side, drawing out a small smile, Remus decided that he would do whatever it took to make his cub better. After all, Harry might think he was stubborn enough to outlast his godfathers' determination, but then he'd never truly gone up against the two Marauders when there was something precious on the line.

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Author's Note: So I managed to post another chapter in less than a week! This is more rare than a blue moon, so don't expect it often, but I'm trying to work on writing good chapters quickly!

A HUGE WARNING!: The next few chapters will contain a lot of graphic content pertaining to suicide, self-harm/injury/mutilation, as well as difficulties with obsessive thoughts and maybe even some ritualistic behavior. **_If you are easily disturbed, squeamish, are triggered by any of the above, or have doubts about your ability to handle the content this warning pertains to in any way, I implore you not to read it!_** There will be a header over and under these sections, and all of them will be underlined so that you know what's safe to read. I also want to make it clear that I will not tolerate someone acting immaturely about these sections. I'm writing from a perspective that I have first hand experience with, and many of the things mentioned have actually happened to me or someone else. As far as the various types of abuse go, you should feel free to call me out on anything that comes across as inauthentic if you know what you're talking about, but saying things like what I'm writing is sick and wrong is just reinforcing people's belief that they shouldn't talk about man's inhumanity to man, even if it's to tell the victim's story, or the way some are prisoners of their own minds. It happens in life, so either act like the adult you should be, or go read something more in your comfort zone.


	4. A Game of 'What if'

WARNING: _The following chapter will contain graphic descriptions of self-harm/injury/mutilation, as well as suicidal and parasuicidal thoughts. These sections will have a header above and below in warning, and will also be_ _underlined,_ _so that anyone who would be bothered by them may skip the more disturbing portions of this story._ _If you are triggered by any of the topics above, easily disturbed, or have any reason to doubt your ability to read these parts of the story without being traumatized, I implore you, SKIP THESE SECTIONS!_ _Please treat these topics with the respect they deserve, as most of these thoughts and actions have either been taken directly from, or are based upon, actual experiences. If you know that you may have a negative or inappropriate reaction to the above topics, then I suggest you either skip it, or wait until you've had time to process the information before starting a mature conversation about the subject matter. It is fine, and actually well within expectations, for you to be bothered by some of the things in these sections, however it would prove a detriment to your own character to act disgusted when these are issues that real people have to deal with on a daily basis. I say this as both someone who has researched both disorders my version of Harry suffers from, as well as someone living with them, when I ask that you please act maturely and treat these topics with the gravity that they deserve._

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 _Last time: As Padfoot nuzzled into Harry's side, drawing out a small smile, Remus decided that he would do whatever it took to make his cub better. After all, Harry might think he was stubborn enough to outlast his godfathers' determination, but then he'd never truly gone up against the two Marauders when there was something precious on the line._

"Cub, you need to eat something, please," Remus asked. Fear flickered across Harry's face for a moment before his, disturbingly good, poker face masked any other traces of emotion.

"Couldn't I just take a nutrient potion?" he asked, clamping down on the bubbling panic inside of him. He could struggle through a meal if he had to, but considering how brittle he was feeling at the moment, it was probably a bad idea to force it down. Despite his best efforts, Harry saw the worry in Remus's eyes grow and was already kicking himself as he could for putting it there in the first place.

"Honestly, I'd prefer for you to eat a meal, because nutrient potion is not as good for you as actual food," he explained, "Do you have something in mind that would be easier on you, or should I just have Kreacher bring up some of the breakfast he's already made?" While what he said about the nutrient potion was true, this was as much an effort to get Harry to eat as it was a test of his aversion to food. After taking a moment to think his options over, Harry decided to just pick at some of what was served. After all, there was no need for them to go to anymore trouble on his account.

"Kreacher, could you please come here?" Remus asked. The elf entered the room with the same loud pop and glared at him, although the look held less heat than it had the other day.

"What does master's master be needing?" Kreacher asked. If dogs could blush, Harry had little doubt that someone would mistake Padfoot for a Weasley because he'd probably match the clan's flaming hair. He tried to muffle a laugh in his dogfather's fur when Remus seemed to choke while doing a fair imitation of a stop light. At the house elf's constipated confused expression, there was no way that Harry could've stopped himself from doubling over with laughter. Remus and Padfoot tried to glower at him for laughing at their expense, but it was just too rare a sight these days for them to actually get upset. With that being said, it was still a matter of pride to at least have some small revenge, so Padfoot licked Harry full across the face, which lead to him sputtering and trying to wipe the drool off in the Grim's fur. If anyone had looked at Kreacher, they would have noticed he wore something dangerously close to an exasperated smile at the small family's antics.

"Will yous be needing Kreacher still?" Let it not be said that the Black family elf was one to be ignored when someone called him. While Harry continued to try and rid his face of slobber, Remus turned back to the elf with a knowing smile of his own.

"Could you please bring up breakfast? I know it's a bit unorthodox, but we'd like to eat up here today." With a nod and a snap of his fingers, Kreacher had breakfast set out on trays for Harry and Remus. The elf's choice to serve Padfoot a bowl of scraps was rather inspired, and Sirius's indignant shout of 'You bloody elf!' was the signal for more peels of laughter, as well as Kreacher's hasty retreat. As breakfast progressed, Sirius continued to pout until Harry and Remus shared their toast and eggs with him, with Harry of course making a face at them for 'snogging while I'm trying to eat'. Apparently, Sirius, who could handle almost any prank thrown his way, was destined to wear pink whenever someone mentioned his love life, and Remus would have probably considered a change in favorite colors if he didn't already know that he could make him change into quite a few shades of red as well.

"Alright pup, now that you have some food in you, what do you say to-" Sirius was interrupted by the wards informing them of an urgent fire call. After a quick look between the adults, Remus ran to the drawing room while Sirius stayed with Harry. "Guess that we'll have to hold off on the flying for a bit then. So Harry, about that nightmare…" An awkward silence descended between the two as Harry refused to meet his dogfather's eyes. Sirius was about to try again when they heard Remus taking the stairs two-at-a-time.

"Siri, we've gotta go, someone's attacking the burrow!" Remus yelled from halfway up the flight. Sirius's eyes turned to steel as he stood and looked back at Harry.

"Pup, stay here," he said, "I'm putting the house on lockdown until we get back."

"But I can-"

" _Stay_ _here!_ " Sirius repeated, "You're still underaged, and I'm not putting you in danger again! Call Kreacher if you need him, but don't even _think_ about unlocking the door!"

"But-" Harry's door slammed before he could argue his point and, if the brief glow that enveloped it moments later was anything to go by, he was already locked in his room.

Harry knew that he couldn't unlock the door, Sirius would have definitely used something that a simple 'alohomora' couldn't undo, and then there was the damn trace on his wand, but none of that meant he had to stay in his bed. Every night, he'd taken the duvet and slept in the corner of his room hidden by the Queen sized bed, both because there was no way that he'd ever touch one if he didn't have to, and, after years of sleeping on his old cot inside the cupboard, he was honestly more comfortable sleeping on a hard, flat surface. At Hogwarts, he'd normally lay in his bed until he was certain that everyone was asleep and then crawl under it for the night. To this day, none of the other boys had noticed that he was always either the first, or last, to get up in the morning.

Despite being off the bed and in the corner, Harry was still in a bad way. Locked doors were never good, too many memories start with him being locked up, and locked bedrooms were even worse. Harry tried to think of something else, but the thought of being locked in the same room as a bed kept resurfacing no matter how frantically he tried to bury it. When he couldn't make himself calm down, he closed his eyes and tried to focus. Instead of fighting the panic, he let out the dark thoughts always there in the back of his mind and embraced them with his whole heart. As he'd discovered at a young age, sometimes the only way to keep from drowning was to let the water carry you.

|||(•)||| **WARNING!** |||(•)|||

 _The following section will contain graphic depictions of self-harm/injury/mutilation, as well as touching on suicidal ideation (obsessive thoughts pertaining to suicide) and various other disturbing subjects._

 _These portions will be_ _underlined_ _so that anyone who chooses may skip them._

 **I WILL NOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE IF YOU DO NOT HEED THIS**

|||(•)||| **WARNING!** |||(•)|||

For as long as he could remember, Harry would occasionally escape to somewhere he called his 'safe space', which, considering the things running through his head, was a rather ironic name. When he was there, he'd indulge in various thoughts or actions that were comforting, but his favorite thing by far was to play a game of 'What if'. The topics were varied, sometimes just a wistful thought of what his life would be like if at least one of his parents had lived, but, more often than not, the game delved into the darker realms of his were quite a few fantasies of Vernon and Petunia being murdered after prolonged torture, many of which he had fun detailing everything from how he would set up the space to how he would frame Marge and Dudley with no one being the wiser. What was truly sad though was that this, more than anything else, was one of the few things that would make him truly happy. He was still the Golden boy, mind you, because, even though many of his imaginings would give both Voldie and Bellatrix nightmares, it's not so much that he wouldn't make his fantasies a reality based solely on the morality of it so much as he couldn't ever consider the idea. To be frank, even though he knew he'd do whatever it took to save someone else's life, Harry couldn't even swat an insect without feeling a mixture of guilt and nausea. Oddly enough, this paradox was probably the reason that he could never imagine hurting any of the death eaters, or even Moldyshorts himself, because he knew he'd have to fight them eventually. Hurting another living creature without due cause was a definite no, but harming himself however... That was another matter entirely.

As he sat in the corner, Harry managed to slow down his thoughts enough that he could begin another game of 'What if'. This time, he didn't want to think of his relatives, for fear of the game backfiring on him, and his parents were too sad a topic to dwell on when his godfathers would undoubtedly pounce on any increased sense of melancholy that couldn't be explained by him being left at home instead of being allowed to help his friends. Right now he needed comfort, and there was only one thing that truly set his soul at ease. With the topic chosen, he let out a breath he didn't remember holding and gave into his darkest desires.

Harry imagined himself going down to the kitchen. He would trail his left hand down the side of the wall, while his right hand ran down the smooth banister, being calmed by the difference in texture, even though he was so keyed up that he practically vibrated with energy. Could anyone blame him though? The thought of what was to come had him smiling so wide that his face threatened to split, because it was better than Yule, Samhain and his birthday all rolled up into almost skipped, in a very manly way, to his destination and opened the cutlery drawer, eyes shining almost as brightly as the metal at his fingertips. There was so much to choose from, and the best part was that he had complete control over the experience. Butter knives were good for just a small bit of stimulation, but they were almost impossible to do damage with, which took them out of the running quite quickly. The steak knives were good if he was in the mood to shred his arms, but he knew that he shouldn't use them, especially when he was in that kind of mindset. It could lead to an unfortunate 'accident', and, as much as he'd like to meet his parents, Harry knew that he would drag quite a few people down with him, so dying wasn't an option unless someone else took matters out of his hands. In the end, he chose a paring knife with a short blade and a wicked sharp edge. Since half the fun was in the anticipation, he spent a moment just holding the knife above his left forearm, running his index finger back and forth over the blunt end of the blade. When he couldn't stand to wait any longer, he almost reverently brought the knife down and guided it over his arm. The first cut would always be shallow enough that he never drew blood, more a scratch than anything else, it was just to wake up the nerves so that they would be ready to sing by the end. The storm always lurking in the back of his mind calmed down to a whisper, and with that, he was free. Again and again, his arm was a violin, the knife a bow, and he the virtuoso bent on reaching new, dizzying heights. Harry imagined that cutting was like letting go of the world, and that, for a few minutes, he would be free of everything that had ever held him down. In this act, he could control just how far he was willing to take things,he answered to no one but himself, and if he chose to, he could damn the consequences and give up what so many had failed to take from him. However, when the thought of how easily he could end it all crossed his mind, his mother's face followed like a bucket of ice water, and thus came the sickening drop back to reality. At the thought of what his actions would do to everyone he cared about, Harry's eyes snapped open and, for the first time in his life, he wondered if there was something wrong with him.

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Author's Note: ^^' So this took a lot longer than I expected it would. I got stuck trying to strike a balance between the reality of how Harry's situation would develop and the need to just move the damn plot along. =_= This would be so much easier if Rowling already had his ass in therapy, but I guess that nobody thought it'd be a bright idea to have someone make sure that Harry's mind was playing with a full deck. In this story, I'm gonna give the Marauders the benefit of the doubt, because, if they'd lived in canon, I think they'd have enough breathing room after the war to notice that Harry needed help. Crap... that means I need to make a mind healer for him, don't I? Anyways, I hope you guys are enjoying the small bits of comedy I'm putting in, because I don't want to make you totally depressed with this story. Also, I plan on Kreacher getting to show a softer side in the near future. Don't worry, he'll still be a complete bastard to Sirius, but I want to write him in a way that makes his character a bit more dynamic. Also, you'll be getting to see the whole 'Master of Death' thing, although I don't plan on going in the same direction that most people do. My version of Death will be full of surprises, so I hope that she lives up to your expectations! ;p And yes, I did in fact put that craptastic pun there on purpose.


	5. Kreacher Comforts

|||(•)|||WARNING|||(•)|||

Underlined sections contain one or more of the following triggers:

Rape, self-harm/injury/mutilation, obsessive thought, compulsive urges, suicidal thought/actions

Please skip these portions of the story if any of these subjects bother you!

|||(•)|||WARNING|||(•)|||

Harry knew he was in a bad way because his game had fallen apart. For some reason, he felt guilty, even though the only reason he played 'What if' was so that he could actually smile.

Why the thought of killing himself bothered him this time was a mystery to him because it had always been there. One of his earliest memories was of making breakfast and wanting to drive the knife he was using into his arm, just to get away from the Dursleys. Dying wasn't a new concept, it was actually a way for him to cope because he knew that, if he truly had no reason at all to keep going, then he knew he could easily leave this life behind.

Harry just couldn't understand why something that had always made him feel better suddenly made him feel sick inside. He closed his eyes as his conscience bombarded him with images of who he would hurt by leaving them behind.

He started chanting 'I'm sorry' over and over again, rocking back and forth in a vain attempt at self-soothing. He wrapped his arms around his body, slipping his hands under the sleeves of his shirt to grip at his shoulders and upper arms sporadically. At some point, his nails caught skin and started carving crescent moons into the tender skin, but Harry didn't even notice. Once he had calmed down though, he felt something wetting his fingertips and saw that he'd managed to draw just a small amount of blood. Now that he wasn't as upset as he was before, he could feel the sting left by the small wounds. In a way, the small bite of pain was enough to anchor him to reality and drive back the thoughts that threatened to consume him. He tried trailing a nail lightly down his arm and, while it felt good, it just wasn't the same. When he tried again after pushing down harder, the pain was accompanied by the sound of skin being torn. Harry closed his eyes and tried to focus on just feeling as he dug his nails in deeper.

This was probably the first time that Harry truly felt at peace. He loved flying and spending time with his friends, as well as his godfathers, but this was actually relaxing. All of his awareness was zeroed in on this one act, and Harry's mind was truly quiet for the first time in his life. There were no memories, no fears, no scars, just a flicker of pain and utter bliss.

When the thought of how this could be what occlumency was like crossed his mind, Harry remembered his hellish lessons with Snape last year and dug his nails into his arm harder than he meant to, which drew a hiss from his lips. He looked down to access the damage and froze. Most of the skin from his shoulder to the crook of his left arm was a mess of crisscrossed lines and crescent moon shaped cuts. He could feel the heat gathering in the area as most of the skin puffed up with bruising and a few places began to sluggishly well up with blood.

Harry was by no means an idiot. He knew that there would be consequences for what he'd done, but he didn't think it would be this bad. For Circe's sake, he'd only used his nails! Harry started trying to think of how he could hide this from his godfathers, but he only had one idea that could work, and it barely stood a snowball's chance in hell. After all, if this backfired, at least he'll know that he tried.

"Kreacher, I need you to come here please," said Harry after hiding his hands so that he wouldn't see the blood. The grumpy elf entered the room with a thunderous clap and was obviously very annoyed.

"What does stupid master's awful godson be wanting now?"

"Look, I know you don't like me, whether it's because of my connection to Sirius or something else, but I need you to help me keep a secret," Harry nervously bit his lip and hoped that Kreacher would take the bait.

"What is stupid master's awful godson hiding?" The house elf looked at Harry suspiciously, not willing to get in trouble for the human child.

"I just need bandages and help making a glamour."

"What did you do child?" Harry was take aback at Kreacher's tone, as well as the fact that this was the first time he'd heard a house elf throw off the odd speech that had been bred into them.

"Nothing really, I just-"

"Child, tell me the truth." Something in the elf's tone told Harry that this was probably his last chance to get Kreacher on his side, so he wordlessly rolled up his sleeves. When he didn't hear any reaction, he scraped together enough Gryffindor courage to look up, but he wasn't prepared for what he saw. Large blue eyes were quickly filling with tears and Kreacher looked like someone had ripped out his heart. He snapped his fingers and summoned a flannel, a bowl of warm water, some bandages, a blue vial and a plant that Harry thought he recognized from from herbology. Once Kreacher had knelt down beside Harry, he banished the boy's shirt and silently wrung out the excess water from the flannel so that he could clean away the drying blood.

"Kreacher, that's enough, I can handle the rest," Harry offered. Seeing the disgruntled house elf actually take care of someone, let alone him, was more than a bit surreal, and it was also much more than he'd ever hoped for.

"Quiet," snapped Kreacher, "I be not telling stupid master as long as stupid master's godson lets Kreacher heal his cuts." When the elf looked at him as if daring him to disagree, Harry felt a bit ashamed. He knew that house elves would normally tend to the wounds sustained by any members of the family they served, but Kreacher just didn't seem the type to do that. In fact, before today, he would've bet that Kreacher would probably summon a heavy first aid kit about two feet over Sirius' head if any of them dared ask him for medical assistance. After cleaning away the blood, Kreacher began to spread the potion, probably Murtlap essence, and Harry sighed in relief as the pain was muted. He didn't realize that he was still tired until Kreacher had spent a few minutes trying to get him to move so that he could properly bandage the wounds. "Here," Kreacher thrust the plant under his nose, "Dittany heal you fast, makes sure cuts leave no trace." After taking a moment to remember that Kreacher couldn't hurt him, or else he would've done it ages ago, Harry started chewing the leaves, which tasted only slightly better than skele-gro. Still, he'd tasted worse, so it was no great hardship to eat the plant if it helped keep his godfathers from finding out what happened. Speaking of help…

"Kreacher, thank you. You might not believe me, but I really appreciate the help." Harry didn't know what else to say when the house elf stared at him like he'd grown two heads, but when Kreacher's gaze turned malicious, he got a distinctly bad feeling.

"If you be wanting Kreacher to be quiet, you be making a promise." Another piece of Harry's heart crumbled to dust as he asked the elf to name his price. "Kreacher be wanting a promise that you call him if you be having cuts again. You be calling _and_ telling Kreacher what made stupid master's godson hurt inside so bad he hurt outside." Under any other circumstance, Harry's face would have been hysterical, because his jaw dropped so quickly that it was almost dislocated. Kreacher wanted to heal his wounds and then talk about why he'd made them in the first place?! What was next, would Filch decide his true passion was dancing flamenco in a short red dress with matching heels? Harry cringed at the image he'd just conjured and snapped back to reality, where the Black family elf was refusing to back down until he had an answer.

"Kreacher… I don't think I can do that, at least not the part where I tell you what caused it," he back-tracked as the elf looked like he was about to go drag his godfathers home by their shirt collars right this second. "Can we compromise maybe? What if I call you and try to talk about it? It's just… Some things I'm just not ready to face yet." Kreacher's face scrunched up in what could be considered a constipated thoughtful expression before he answered.

"You be calling Kreacher when there be cuts, you be trying to tell him what hurts, _and_ you be eating, or Kreacher will be telling stupid master's master." The elf's eyes dared Harry to argue, but he needn't have bothered, the young Gryffindor was far too tired to do more than nod his head in acquiescence. With a nod of his own, Kreacher popped out of Harry's room after putting a glamour on the boy's arms strong enough to fool even Padfoot and Moony's senses. The last thought Harry had before falling back to sleep was that either Kreacher had an actual heart, or he was hallucinating. Yeah, it was probably the last one.

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Author's note: Alright, I haven't gotten a single hit on my polls, and this chapter is done, so I'm just gonna wing it! Seriously thought, if no one responds to my MPREG poll, Sirius is going to turn into a small blimp at some point, and I'm gonna have an absolute ball wreaking havoc with his character! ;p Oh, and to all those I scarred mentally with the image of Filch dancing in a red mini-dress with matching heels, ya should've voted!

Update: I am so beyond sorry that I didn't catch the glitch that caused the graphic sections to no longer be underlined until now! I will be double checking all the chapters for any such errors from now on, and my sincere apologies for anyone who was relying on a warning to avoid those sections.


	6. Where There's Smoke

Disclaimer: I haven't done this in a while, so excuse me if I'm a bit rusty. Let's see... Tom's face still looks like someone got plastic surgery at a wax museum, so he's definitely not mine. Harry's got a lightning bolt scar that doesn't make sparks fly between him and every other attractive male within a mile-radius, so he's also not mine. Snape is still a git, even if he did protect Harry, because he a) is not Benedict Cumberbatch and b) made Harry an orphan in the first place, so I don't own him either. You know what, considering the fact that I don't even have a copy of all seven books, and that I can barely pay to take five credits this semester, me thinks it's safe to say that I only own the plot to this story and don't make a dime off of anything Harry Potter related. Maybe $-7.50, considering that's how much I payed for a second hand copy of HP & the DH. TT3TT

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When Sirius woke up Harry, Remus' eyes zeroed in on his reaction. He knew that some people could be jumpy when they're woken up, but Harry's response was setting off several alarms and had him praying that his suspicions were unfounded. When Sirius touched their godson's knee, he heard the sharp crack as Harry's head jerked up and slammed into the wall. The way that his arms came up to guard his face and his eyes remained closed, as if he was too afraid to see who had woken him up, was already damning, but it was even worse when coupled with the fact that he didn't even respond to the pain in the back of his head. Remus knew that Harry was almost constantly sporting an injury from Quidditch year-round, but that by itself didn't explain away his extremely high pain tolerance because, according to everyone, he'd been that way since he arrived at Hogwarts. Remus knew better than most people that having a high pain tolerance and/or threshold is rarely a natural gift, more often than not you had to suffer intense agony on an almost constant basis before you learn how to adjust to the feeling. Just the sound of Harry's head colliding with the wall was enough to make him wince, which is why the lack of acknowledgement bothered him just as much as his godson automatically moving to protect the vulnerable parts of his body. He prayed to Circe that he was wrong, but, like every teacher at Hogwarts, he was trained to recognize the signs of abuse, and this was all looking disturbingly similar to what he'd been told to watch for.

"Harry, are you alright?!" Sirius was fluttering about, unsure of what to do because this was twice now that Harry had responded negatively to being touched. Once his dogfather's voice registered, Harry quickly dropped his arms and looked down with pink staining his cheeks. He mumbled that he was fine, which didn't satisfy either of his godfathers' worries. Sirius found a huge knot already forming on the back of Harry's head so he summoned a bit of bruise-balm and looked disapprovingly at his godson for not telling them how bad it was, although Remus was nearly certain that Harry didn't mention it because he'd suffered things so much worse that it hardly registered. Remus was so lost in thought that he didn't notice Harry trying to get his attention until he'd already been asked the same question twice.

"I'm sorry Harry, what did you say?"

"Is everyone at the Burrow alright?" Remus mentally kicked himself for not picking up on his cub's anxiety. Of course Harry was worried about his pseudo-family, never mind the fact that he'd nearly cracked his head open like an egg moments before!

"Everyone is fine, a bit shaken up, but totally fine. A handful of death eaters that had been too low in the chain to be marked tried to break down the wards, but Bill and Fleur were visiting, which gave the Weasleys a wand up on the bunch of idiots. We arrived just in time to help the aurors apparate them to the ministry, and Madam Bones was almost dancing with glee at the chance to interrogate them under veritaserum. You know, now that I think about it, I find her much scarier than Bellatrix," Remus winced, "Amelia is perfectly sane and knows exactly how far she can push the laws to get what she wants." When Sirius started muttering about how all pureblood women were crazy to some degree Harry gave a half smile. 'Half is better than nothing,' thought Remus. After letting his mutt rant for a moment, he gave him a look that basically said 'Shut up and follow my lead'. "Cub, Sirius and I still need to do some paperwork on this incident, think you can go downstairs and knock out a load of dishes?" Something flashed across Harry's face before it went blank and he nodded. The couple shared a worried look before heading to the study. Remus set up a one-way muffling charm so that they would hear Harry walk down to the kitchen, but he wouldn't hear what they were saying. When he turned back to his husband, he saw that Sirius was sitting in his armchair, hands on his knees and eyes staring at the flames in the fireplace. Before he could sit down, Sirius turned his way and spoke.

"Moony, I think I know what's wrong with our pup."

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Author's note: Another chapter, in only a day?! Weeeeell, don't get used to it. My muse decided to go bang a plot bunny, so I was stuck trying to type this on my phone until I could get to a computer. I know it's short-ish, but I promise you that it'll only be one or two more chapters before Death shows up, and Kreacher is going to slowly become almost loveable, almost like the way people love that "My Little Bastard" game on Adult Swim. Yes, he's going to be nicer, and it's all because of Harry. Why does he get attached to Harry you ask? . Sorry, that would be telling. What I will say is that the next chapter is going to be Sirius and Remus trying to figure out what the hell happened that Harry is acting like this when he's completely different at school. The best way to describe the way things are going to progress is that you guys will already know that Harry's bipolar and has OCD, but the characters won't find this out for at least three or four more chapters. There's going to be suspicion, misdiagnosis, medication that makes things worse, therapy and even a bit of poetry from Harry! Btw, eventually there's going to be a chapter where Umbitch gets a verbal smack down so hard that her toad-ass leaves a crater (which she already does every time she leap-frogs her way through the ministry).


	7. Sparks

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 _Last time: "Moony, I think I know what's wrong with our pup."_

There were a few times when Sirius Black lived up to his name. It was rare for the fates to demand he rise to the occasion, but when they did, he was ready. During his career as an Auror, Sirius had faced quite a few things that probably gave the dementors indigestion, but cases of abuse were far and few between. Don't misunderstand, someone being abused wasn't that uncommon, it was the actual reporting of the crime that was almost non-existent. Still, Sirius had seen enough to recognize at least a few of the signs, and he was also intimately familiar with the cruelty that one can suffer at the hands of family.

"I think I know, but I really, really want to be wrong." To anyone else, the expression on Sirius' face would have looked like he was just mildly concerned, but, after all their years together, Remus was able to pick out the subtle signs of deep, brooding worry. He sat on the arm of the chair to squeeze his husband's shoulder and it showed that Sirius was truly upset when he didn't even complain about Remus doing something that he'd been nagged at for.

"Let me guess, you think his relatives were abusive?" At the startled look on Sirius's face, Remus wore a grim smile. "I do have a teaching degree Siri, and one of the requirements is learning how to spot abuse. I also know that, while Aurors aren't taught the signs, you're far more observant than people give you credit for, so it doesn't surprise me that you learned the patterns all on your own."

"Actually, when you think about our childhoods, we'd have to be idiots if we couldn't spot the similarities when Harry lives under the same roof as us." Sirius thought for a moment before sighing, "And I'm guessing that the only reason we didn't see it immediately is because we wanted to believe that he'd been safe with them for the past fourteen years. Remus, what are we going to do?" Even though it was the new moon tonight, Moony was riding dangerously close to the surface at the thought of someone harming his cub, and the only things stopping him from going to rip out a few throats were the fact that he'd be put down like a rabid wolf and how much that would hurt his family. He took a second to calm himself and the wolf before answering.

"First things first, we should get Harry some professional help because, as much as we want to kill the dursleys, our cub needs us too much to risk Azkaban. Then, after we've made sure that he's taken care of, I suggest we call in that favor Amelia said she owed us for not suing the DMLE for wrongful imprisonment." Remus' eyes flashed amber and his grin took on a decidedly feral look, "We might not get to tear the bastards apart ourselves, but I'm interested in seeing how the muggles will cope with Azkaban themselves." If Sirius' grin matched his husband's to a t, neither felt the need to mention it. After all, while Harry's imagination was far more vivid than theirs, he wasn't the only one who could enjoy a nice game of 'What if'.

|||(•)|||WARNING!|||(•)|||

Below there will be sections that contain one or more of the following:

obsessive thought, references to or instances of self-harm/injury/mutilation, suicidal thoughts/actions, etc.

They will be underlined so that you can avoid them, so if any of these triggers bother you, I want you to heed this

|||(•)|||WARNING!|||(•)|||

 _Meanwhile..._

Harry was slow going down to the kitchen, whether because he dreaded the thought of doing dishes or the temptation he felt washing the knives, he wasn't entirely sure. Still, it was one of the few things his godfathers asked of him, so he'd do it without complaint. At Christmas, Hermione's cousin Betty had sent her a few manga books in an attempt to get her hooked. While it didn't work, Harry had sort of liked one of them that was about alchemists because it talked about (1) the law of equivalent exchange, which was something that he was deeply familiar with, although his version was much simpler: if someone gives you a home, clothes and food, you do whatever they ask. He knew his godfathers were good people, which was why they took him in as soon as they were able, so he was determined not to be a burden because he was (almost) certain that they'd keep supporting him even if he was, but that wouldn't be fair. The Dursleys always said he should be grateful for what they gave him, but the fact that his godfathers never said that made him hellbent on proving that he knew just how much he owed them. When Harry entered the kitchen, he was surprised to find that Kreacher was nowhere to be seen, but he couldn't decide if it was good or bad because, while he hated to be watched, he would have an easier time not giving into temptation with company. After banishing the thought, he got to work doing the dishes.

When it came to chores, Harry found that he either couldn't concentrate on them or was possessed by a single-minded focus. It didn't always happen, but there were times when seeing a single speck of food left on the dishes after they'd been washed would send him into a near frenzy as he rewashed it thirteen times. Thirteen was his lucky number, mainly because his luck already sucked, so he'd always hoped that the two negatives could make a positive. It also might have something to do with a four-year-old Harry latching onto the number that nobody liked because he didn't want it to feel lonely. So Harry tended to do things in a way that related to thirteen. He'd wash the dishes in units of thirteen seconds until they were clean, wipe them dry with a dish towel that many times, stack the different kinds of plates and bowls in ways that he could count up to the number, and a thousand other tiny things that he did without thinking about revolved around it. The routine and ritual of it was comforting, but the downside was that, when he noticed things that weren't done by thirteen, he'd get extremely agitated. After having done every other job that he could think of in the kitchen, Harry was faced with the same dilemma that always came up: at some point, all the sets of silverware had gotten jumbled up, he'd already tried to come up with some pattern for them all, but there was no helping it. There was nothing he could do about the spoons and forks, but the knives… there were twenty seven knives total, and all he had to do was take one to make them into two sets of thirteen. Harry kept telling himself that he wouldn't use it, he'd just take it so that things made fucking sense, but he'd never been a good liar, not even to himself. He picked up the paring knife, the one that he'd been drawn to from day one and ran his finger along the back of the blade, pushing down as if he the dull edge could give him the one cut he needed to be able to walk away without looking back. While he might not have a name for what he was feeling, he knew it was addictive, and what scared him more than he was willing to admit was that, more often than not, he found that he didn't care.

Harry was teetering on the edge, trying to work up the strength to put the knife in the drawer and out of his sight when he heard someone coming towards the kitchen and panicked. He slipped it into his pocket, swearing to himself that he'd put it back later, and turned to see his godfathers walk in. By the looks on their faces, he already knows whatever they're going to say is bad, but that doesn't prepare him for what happens next.

"Harry," Sirius says, talking as if he's trying to calm a frightened animal, "We need to have a talk about your relatives."

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Author's Note: So I looked back at my poll and found that two people had answered it, but I'd already started writing. To whoever was kind enough to vote, I adore you, and I hope that you like the way the story's progressing! If you want a reward for voting, PM me and I'll share my Choco-chunk cookie recipe, but be warned it's extremely addictive! Anyways, I just realized that I kind of flipped what I was going to do in the poll and made chapter five longer w/ the self-harm and stuff. For those of you who read the bit about Harry being obsessed with the number thirteen, that was me. ^^' To be fair, I blame my pre-k teacher for telling me that it was bad luck so nobody liked it. I knew what it was like to be lonely, and thus the obsession began. This will be a recurring theme so, while I'll try not to go over board, you should all know that things the author obsesses over will often times wind up in their stories. After I write the next chapter, I should be able to bombard you guys with maybe one or two more in quick succession, because Death's chapter is all written and edited, I just have to hurry up and get to a point where it makes sense to put the damn thing in here. Btw, if anyone's wondering, I have no idea how long I want to make this story, but I'm going to use it as a skeleton for the original novella that I want to write. I figure that, if I grow a few muscles here, I can flesh out a decent body and learn what about my audience before hand. This means that I reeeeeeeeeally need you guys to tell me what you like and what sucks in Death's chapter, cause it's gonna be super important in my novella! Alright, I'm rambling now, so it's time to go to bed. Good night, morning, afternoon, or whatever the hell kind of greeting it is in your time zone, and I hope you got something constructive out of this story. :B


	8. Precipice (If I fell)

Disclaimer: God dammit, I always forget this pesky thing cause it's so depressing. TT3TT It's just here to remind me that I'm not rich from writing this story, and my dreams of having a magical all-wizard harem of Snape (with Benedict playing him, duh), Harry, a Draco (who doesn't slick back his hair like he's a god damn Greaser), Tom (not the one whose nose fell off), and any other hot boys that I missed enjoy each other's company are just dreams, because I'm a broke college student from Virginia who still hasn't even read all of book IV.

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 _Last time: "Harry," Sirius said, talking as if he were trying to calm a frightened animal, "We need to talk about your relatives."_

Both Remus and Sirius had to bite back a growl when Harry's eyes went dead and his body stiffened at the mention of his so-called 'family'. They were beyond livid, but they also knew that they couldn't get revenge without abandoning their godson, so they bottled their rage until they could vent it properly. Sirius had grown up a lot since that awful Halloween so many years ago, and he had vowed on his very soul that he would never abandon Harry like that, not ever again. Remus had always known that, should he ever harm someone in anything other than self-defense, he would be killed. It had been drilled into his head since he was bitten by Fenrir Greyback that his life meant absolutely nothing to most of the prejudiced masses, so he would have to bend over backwards if he wanted to keep it. Oddly enough, Moony made it easier to choose protecting Harry over killing the Dursleys because, while the wolf was no doubt eager to tear apart anyone that had harmed his cub, the thought of doing anything that would keep him from protecting his offspring in the future was just fundamentally _wrong_. Still, when Harry followed them into the sitting room, looking for all the world as if a dementor had just swallowed his soul, both men were wondering if they couldn't at least test out a few of the more vicious pranks that the Weasley twins had come up with. After everyone was seated, the adults shared a look before Remus turned to Harry.

"Cub, is there anything you'd like to tell us about growing up with the Dursleys?"

"You already know that we didn't like each other, what more is there to tell?" Both men nearly sighed in relief at the edge of rebellion that had crept into Harry's voice. Rebellion was good, great even when the alternative is lifeless. So long as Harry continued to react, they'd still have something to build off of.

"Pup, we're just worried. You're acting so differently than you do at school, and not in a good way. After thinking about it and connecting the dots, Remy and I both have reason to think that it has something to do with your relatives." Sirius looked at Harry, waiting for him to say something but, after a few minutes of awkward silence, Remus spoke up.

"Cub, if you can give us a reason to explain all the little things that keep raising red flags, then that's fine and we'll deal with whatever issues are brought up. However, I think all three of us know that there had to be something in the past to trigger these behaviors." They could see that Harry was caught somewhere between panic and anger at being cornered, but they hoped that he would tell them at least enough to either confirm or allay their fears.

"Would it be at all possible to just let this go?" Harry sighed, "They were jerks and I don't have a lot of good memories from there, so I'd like to just move on."

"Harry, I know you want to move on, but if something happened then you should tell us so that we can help." Remus knew he was treading on thin ice, but this needed to be done. "If they didn't treat you well, then we don't necessarily have to press charges, but Siri and I were thinking that you should talk to a mind healer either way." You could hear a pin drop in the quiet that settled over the room. Sirius was trying not to fidget at the uncomfortable silence and both men were worried because Harry had yet to look at them since Remus had brought up therapy. If there had been any background noise at all, they wouldn't have picked up on what Harry said next.

"A mind healer?" Hearing his godson's voice crack, Sirius reached out to put an arm on his shoulder. He was about to try and comfort him when the teen shook him off and pinned them to their seats with a glare that would have made Snape proud. "You want me to see a mind healer _now_?! Where the bloody hell was this idea after what happened in the ministry, after I was forced to make my _third kill at fifteen_? What about when I watched a friend who had almost become a big brother _die_ , right before my parents' murderer was brought back to life, and I had to duel him before portkeying said friend's _corpse_ back to a stadium full of people who didn't believe me when I told them how he died?!" After seeing that both adults were still gobsmacked, Harry was more than ready to continue his rant. "Also, can either of you tell me who the fuck didn't think it was a good idea to call in a mind healer after third year? You know, the one where I thought I was being hunted by one of my godfathers and nearly killed him before finding out that my best friend's pet rat was actually the bastard who betrayed my parents?! Oh, and if that wasn't enough, then why wasn't one called in after my _other_ godfather got so caught up in that mess that he missed his wolfsbane potion and chased my friends and I through the forest, which lead to the damn traitor _escaping_?! I know you two weren't there for my first and second year, but you heard about them, so why didn't this thing come up sooner? Bloody hell, the whole damn school should have had counseling or therapy of some sort after the damn basilisk started petrifying people that were ridiculously lucky because there was something that kept them from looking directly into its eyes. For fuck's sake, I had to go down into the chamber of secrets and kill the bloody thing with a _sword_ to save Ginny, and I would've died from the thing's poison if Fawks hadn't cried into the wound! As for my first year, I should go around the staff table on September first and slap every last one of them, repeatedly, for agreeing to keep the accursed stone in the school and then come up with the stupidest tests in history to protect it. If they'd just kept it in the damn vault, Quirrell would have been trapped in there with it and I wouldn't have had to kill someone at _eleven-years-old_! What the actual fuck is wrong with you people that no one thought to call in a mind healer when I watched the man's hands crumble to dust after trying to grab me and all I had to do to kill him was keep my hands on his face until he was just a pile of clothing and ash on the floor?! Is everyone on the staff at that school a bloody idiot, or do they really just not give a shite? Fucking hell, I bet at least a few of them are probably in Dumbles' pocket, because they'd see it in any other kid. Goddamn Dursleys," Realizing his mistake, Harry snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. Unfortunately for him, while his godfathers may have still been shocked by his outburst, they were able to zero in on him mentioning his relatives.

"Harry… Everything you've said is true," Sirius said, "It shouldn't have taken this long, and for that, I think it's safe to say that we all failed you. None of the things you brought up should've happened to you, but they did, so you should have had someone to talk to that could help you make peace with these things. Heck, you should've had someone to talk to from the very beginning after finding out about your parents' murder and suddenly becoming a celebrity. When I look at things from your point of view, I see that there has probably been a desperate need for help that should have been addressed a very long time ago, and you have no idea how sorry I am," he looked to his husband, "How sorry _we_ are that we haven't even suggested it sooner. All of the adults in your life should have done something from the beginning, and while it's inexcusable that we didn't, at the very least we can start helping you deal with things now." Harry looked like he was going to say something but thought better of it. When nothing had been said for a few minutes, Remus cleared his throat to get their attention and asked the question that Moony had latched onto.

"Harry, what did you mean when you said that the staff were probably in Dumbledore's pocket, or else they would've seen something about your relatives?" Remus saw that he'd stepped on a landmine the minute he finished his sentence because Harry's entire body closed off and his face went completely blank.

"Nothing important, other than the fact that they despise me and the feeling is mutual," was Harry's cool reply. Remus knew that this subject was bound to make Harry uncomfortable, but his reactions to anything related to the Dursleys had his instincts screaming that they'd done something unforgivable to his cub and he was determined to find out what.

"Cub, people don't usually comment about being in someone's pocket or say those kinds of things about their supposed family unless they have a reason. I understand that they are a bunch of bigots who hate magic, but that doesn't explain why the school staff would have to be paid or bribed to ignore something concerning them." Once again, Harry looked like he was stuck somewhere between anger and panic, but Remus knew that they needed to know more. "Part of why I keep pushing is because I want to be able to throw the book at the Dursleys for hurting you," When Harry was about to protest, Remus held up his hand and continued, " We know they did cub, we don't know how often or how badly they hurt you, but we know from our own experience that they did. As I was saying, we need to know so that they'll be dealt with, and we also need to have some idea so that we can choose the correct mind healer."

"Why would they need to know before hand? Isn't the whole purpose of seeing one to find out what your issues are and then work through them?" Harry asked.

"Yes, that's the general idea, but they still need to be at least vaguely informed about what they might run into while helping you sift through memories so that they can be somewhat prepared for what will be hitting their occlumency shields, and there are also healers that specialize in dealing with certain kinds of traumatic experiences," Remus explained.

"Wait, WHAT?! There is no way in hell that I'm letting anyone in my head! I just got rid of Voldemort and Snape, so no one else is ever getting inside my mind again!"

"What in Circe's name was Snivellus doing in your head?!" barked Sirius.

"He and Dumbles called it occlumency lessons, but I called it Snape having fun practicing his legilimency on me for hours at a time," Harry deadpanned. At the livid expressions on their faces, he guessed that Snape wasn't doing what he was supposed to. On the upside, Harry had found out that he had some small natural talent at occlumency because Snape had never managed to reach the memories of Vernon and his friends having 'play time'. The way that he'd been able to move less volatile memories up front for Snape to see was probably his saving grace because he didn't doubt for a second that the vindictive potions master would have delighted in trying to crack open his shields, but Harry had put so much of his will into making them that the backlash of mental energy would've probably killed them both had Snape succeeded. 'Pity,' Harry thought, 'If he'd succeeded, I would've probably fried Voldie's brain too and then I wouldn't have to worry about anything. My job would've been over.' Harry looked back to his godfathers and, from the way they were waiting for him to speak, he guessed that he'd missed a question."Sorry, could you repeat that?"

"No worries pup, I just wanted to know how often these 'lessons' were."

"Um," Harry wracked his brain for the answer, "It was once a week after Mr. Weasley got bitten by Nagini, so they started in January and ended after the battle in the Ministry in June," Harry's tone grew just a bit colder, "It was a moot point by then, but I think I had about twenty 'lessons' total." After hearing just how much access the dungeon bat had had to Harry's mind, Remus pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long suffering sigh.

"So what you're telling us is that you had to endure someone basically performing mind rape, and it happened over twenty times?" Seeing his godson continue to stare at him blankly, Remus was seriously considering giving up for the day, but he knew that if he gave in now, Harry would continue to bottle this up until he couldn't take the pressure. "Harry, without any of the other things you pointed out before, what Snape did makes seeing a mind healer a necessary evil, if only to make sure that the natural barriers in your mind have started to mend. What he did is the equivalent of you walking into the middle of the restricted section at Hogwarts and tearing things from their place left, right and center, and some of those texts are so volatile that they could do some serious damage to the rest of the library if they aren't properly contained. The mind healer would perform the same function as Madam Pince, namely fixing any damaged books, righting overturned shelves, putting things back in order and sealing away anything too dangerous to be read without taking the proper precautions," Harry nodded in understanding, "Considering everything that you've pointed out already, your mind already had an overflowing restricted section before Snape started mucking about, so as much as you might hate the idea, I'm afraid I'll have to insist." When it looked like Harry was still going to object, Sirius jumped in.

"Pup, remember what happened after the battle at the ministry?" Harry glared at him for asking an obvious question, "Well, I had to see a mind healer before they would let me have custody of you," he made a face, "It wasn't pleasant by anyone's standards, but it helped. I didn't even realize that Azkaban had knocked a few screws loose until they were tightened up and I was thinking more clearly. Dementors function a bit like a legilimens does when they attack your mind: if you can't shield against them, both pull up the worst memories that they can find in order to damage your natural defenses enough that you stop fighting them. Actually, the only two differences are that, while Dementors literally eat happiness, they actually hold some memories sacred enough that they won't pull them up if they find them, but a legilimens doesn't have that same restriction. It's why that particular skill is considered borderline gray at best."

"Look, I understand what you're saying, but there is nothing on earth that can make me let someone else into my mind willingly ever again," Harry said, "Like it or not, the tiny bit of trust I had for someone to do that was sorely abused, so I'm not giving anyone else the opportunity. If we could figure out a way for me to have therapy the muggle way, I'd be at the very least willing to try, but I figured out just enough from actually reading about occlumency this summer that anyone who tries getting into my head will be in for quite a few nasty surprises." At that, Harry stood and walked back to his room. For years to come, Remus and Sirius would wish that they'd asked Harry to come back, but they had no way of knowing that he had their worst nightmare tucked away in his pocket.

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Author's Note: I swore I would make you guys wait for a day or two fro this chapter, but I checked and saw that I have almost five hundred views for this story. Q.Q *cries tears of joy* People are actually reading the stuff I'm writing, and it made me so happy that I rushed out this chapter for all of you as a thank you ( ;p but I'm evil, so I left you with a cliffy). I feel like the luckiest girl in the world right now, and I'll try really hard to have quick, quality chapters for this story until the very end. I will probably have to slow down a bit when classes start in August, but I'll do my best to keep on writing! For those who are interested in it, the MPREg poll is up now, so vote or don't vote, but just know that it _WILL_ happen unless a lot of people object to it, so no whining if you don't like it and forget to vote! **Just remember: my chosen victim will be getting a C-section at St. Mungos because the only thing I'm pulling out of Sirius' arse is Remus!** *cackles* Sirius waddling is going to be hilarious! ;3 Until next time!

P.S. I swear on my magic that I _will_ take a break from writing this story! Oh wait... TT3TT


	9. All Skydiver (No Parachute)

Disclaimer: I think I'll explain why I don't own Harry Potter through poetry (although I do own the poem). Mind you, this poem is based on the true story of one poor college student (ie. me).

I'm broke as a joke that ain't funny,

So I can't give you change,

Cause I don't have money.

So take a cab if you've got the cash,

Meanwhile,

I can't even afford the dash,

Cause I'm broke as a joke that ain't funny!

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|||(•)|||WARNING!|||(•)|||

The following chapter will contain, but is not limited to, the following triggers: obsessive thought, suicidal thoughts/actions, self-harm/injury/mutilation, and graphic content in general. It is recommended that, if any of these subjects act as a trigger, you should avoid any sections that are underlined.

Remember, it is up to you to heed this

|||(•)|||WARNING!|||(•)|||

 _Last time: For years to come, Remus and Sirius would wish that they'd asked Harry to come back, but they had no way of knowing that he had their worst nightmare hidden in his pocket._

A storm had been brewing in the back of Harry's mind ever since Sirius mentioned his relatives. As anger and sorrow clouded his thoughts, his heart grew heavy with the promise of rain. No one had ever thought to give him the help he needed, to teach him how to cope with all the dragon shite that life had thrown his way, but, now that everything's over, they wanted to fix him. 'If they'd done their fucking jobs, then I wouldn't be broken in the first place!' Harry nearly screamed inside his head. Before Snape went wand happy on his mind, he might have been persuaded to go to a mind healer. Heck, he would've probably been chomping at the bit because someone would see that he shouldn't be sent back to the Dursleys, and he would've been free of them that much sooner. While he still believed that his godfathers, and even the elder Weasleys, had the best intentions, as far as he was concerned, they, along with every other adult in his life, had paved the way to hell, and he'd lost what little faith he had in their ability to protect him from the moment Snape went from being a bully to being an abuser. As he climbed the stairs, Harry asked himself how could they have expected him to react any differently. Even without Snape traipsing about his memories, it had barely been a month since he'd found out that he'd been housing a part of Tom Riddle's soul for the past fourteen years, and the thought of having someone else waltzing through his mind felt just as awful. The saddest part was that he couldn't decide which made him feel dirtier: playing host for a madman's soul, or being touched by his uncle. Either one would be enough to make him feel like he was covered in filth, but the two put together made him feel like he was going to be sick.

Harry opened the door to his bedroom and made a beeline for the ensuite bathroom. It was by no means as large as the prefect's bathroom, but it was still lavish enough that Harry usually felt spoiled rotten just by being in there. At any other time, he would've paused to look and just admire, while simultaneously feeling unworthy of, the beautiful space, but right now he had only a few seconds to make it to the toilet before he brought up the small amount of food he'd eaten earlier. The thought of his two main tormentors was enough to have him dry heaving long after his stomach was empty before he was a desperate need to feel clean again so he merely shut the door and made sure it was locked. After a moment's deliberation, Harry turned on the water to fill up the tub, having chosen the lesser of the two evils, and went to brush his teeth while he waited for it to fill. It felt like something had crawled inside his mouth and died, so Harry gave into the urge to brush and floss until his gums bled and his tongue felt like he'd wiped it down with sandpaper. Only then did he feel like he could make himself stop, because there was no way to make that part of him any cleaner. As it was, this took more time than he thought it would because the tub, which was deep enough for him to sit up to his neck, had already been filled, so now came the hard part. While he was undressing, Harry kept repeating his silent mantra of 'I am not four, Aunt Petunia can't hold me under, she's not even here,' in order to actually make himself get in the tub. Baths, while traumatic when he was younger, were still much safer for now. 'With a bath, no one can come in the room while the water's running and block your only way out.' Harry refused to follow that thought to its conclusion because it would only make things harder. Instead, he carefully unwound the bandages on his arms, almost happy to find that the cuts had all closed and, while the skin was still tender, they looked like scars that had healed months ago instead of the hours old scabs they should've been. He gave a sigh of relief because this meant that, at the very least, his godfathers wouldn't catch him unless they learned to recognize the scent of Murtlap essence. Harry was so distracted by this that, when he dropped his jeans, he almost missed the small thump something made as they hit the tiled floor.

When he pulled the knife out of his pocket, several things happened at once: some tiny voice in the back of his mind was terrified of what his godfathers would do if they caught him with and started screaming that he should put it back in his pocket until he could sneak it back into the kitchen, another part of him was mesmerized because the blade of the knife looked so much like what he'd dreamed of, but what caught his attention was the part of himself that whispered about how what he'd done earlier had helped him feel just a little better, so this might just make all his problems disappear. Harry couldn't decide what to do just then, so he set it on the edge of the tub next to his glasses and climbed in. While the warm water was soothing, it didn't really make him feel better. If anything, he felt worse because he was sitting here relaxing after chewing out the only two adults that had ever actually taken on the challenge of raising him. Saying the truth about matters had made him equal parts relieved and distressed at the time, but right now his anxiety was winning. Add to that the dirty feeling that had encompassed him at thoughts of being a horcrux, on top of remembering Vernon's touch, and it wasn't hard to see what would happen next.

Harry took his flannel and, after soaping it up, began to wash himself until every inch of skin was rubbed raw. Anywhere that Vernon had put his hands was treated as if his hands had left behind stains, but no matter how hard or long he spent washing, Harry couldn't seem to rid himself of the memories. He wrapped his arms around himself and dug his nails into his shoulders, trying to make himself stop thinking and just feel. His uncle's shadow couldn't touch him when he forgot it was there, so, although he knew he'd never really forget, he was willing to do just about anything to distract himself. He didn't know when he started crying, but when angrily swiped away the tears, his arm knocked the knife into the water. Harry felt around the bottom of the pool and hissed when he nicked his finger on the blade. It had hurt but, just like earlier, the pain was the only thing he felt, and for once, Harry didn't want to worry about what this kind of peace would cost him. He ran his finger over the back of the blade again as he held it to the inside of his arm and slowly, reverently made the first cut. It was long and shallow, but still so beautiful. The almost burgundy pearls were soon became trickling streams and, when the drops hit the water, they looked like red ribbons coming undone. As he watched the blood continue to flow, like lava bubbling up and burning away all the shame and disgust he felt towards himself, he knew that once wouldn't be enough. The rush that he'd felt from that first cut was already starting to fade and he didn't want this feeling to end. One more cut became two, then three, then as many as it took to keep feeling like this. He stopped counting after thirteen, not caring how many came after he'd hit his 'magic number', and if that thought was accompanied by a small bubble of hysterical laughter, no one else would ever know.

Eventually, Harry let both arms sink into the water and felt so much better than he had before. He was some weird combination of light headed and numb, but it was a good kind of numb, like he'd feel when someone had him drink whiskey or bourbon before- Harry shook his head, not wanting to continue that train of thought, and felt incredibly dizzy. He closed his eyes again, trying to will the feeling away, but it wasn't working. When he tried to move bring his hands up to clutch his head, he found that they felt like they'd fallen asleep, and, after cracking his eyes open, he saw why. The water was getting darker by the second, which should have made him feel worried, but he was too busy trying to get himself out of the tub so that he could call Kreacher. Maybe, if his blood sugar wasn't so low, or, better yet, he hadn't lost so much blood, Harry would have been able to recognize that he wasn't able to get out of the tub safely, and then he wouldn't have slipped, clipping his head on the edge of the tub and falling back into the water. He tried to get out, or at least get his head above the water, but he panicked. The only reason he'd made it through the second task was because he knew that Ron was trapped and that he would still be able to breathe. Other than that, water was very, very bad for Harry. Caught up in memories of being held under, he tried thrashing, but his body just wouldn't respond the way he needed it to. Aunt Petunia had never held him under this long before without letting him take at least one breath and his lungs were burning like they were on fire! His eyes stung when he tried to open them, black spots dancing across his vision, and the water that had seeped into his mouth tasted strongly of copper, like so many other baths where he'd been too bloodied after a beating that he needed to be rinsed so that he wouldn't accidentally bloody the floor while he did the rest of his chores. He heard what sounded like screaming, but he couldn't tell what was being said. Was his Aunt telling him that she was going to drown him like she'd always said they should have? 'Did I really do something to deserve this?' Harry thought, his thrashing beginning to slow as he ran out of oxygen. When he couldn't hold on any longer, his thrashing stopped as the water rushed into his lungs, and his world was reduced to copper, red, and pain, so much pain. Even after his lungs were full, the burning didn't end, it just got worse as his entire body begged for oxygen. Harry's last thought before he lost consciousness was to wonder who needed to use the loo so badly that they broke down the door.

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 _Thirty minutes ago:_

"Well that went well," Sirius said with enough biting sarcasm to impress his own mother. Both adults were still completely floored after hearing exactly how badly they, and every other adult responsible for his wellbeing, had failed their godson. Considering the fact that he no longer had the excuse of being a bit mental from Azkaban, Sirius was kicking himself repeatedly for not suggesting the same thing be done for Harry the moment that he'd finished his own treatment. The wizarding world tended to look at mental illness as more of a personality quirk than a health problem, but that attitude actually tended to make it easier for people who wanted help. As long as you got treated before you did something drastic, it was about as noteworthy as a first year asking madam Hooch for extra flying lessons because they were crap on a broom. At the same time, if you did something because you were a bit mental, well, it was very likely that you'd either wind up in Azkaban or, if it was really obvious that your head wasn't screwed on straight, you'd be in for a long, sometimes permanent, stay at St. Mungos. Sirius had been lucky enough to only suffer from nightmares and a bit of something called PTSD (he couldn't remember the full name, just the acronym), which only took a few sessions to treat for the most part. Remus was there for everything else that the mind healer couldn't do, and he reckoned that they'd already had enough cups of tea after the first few months of his escape to have established a ritual for dealing with the aftermaths of a bad nightmare. Sirius was thankful for the help, but thinking about that made him feel even guiltier because no one had bothered to do even that much for Harry.

"It could've gone worse Siri," Remus reminded him. "I don't know how exactly, but, considering the fact that we are dealing with a powerful, volatile teenager who could probably mop the floor with Dumbledore if he was angry enough, it could have definitely gone worse." As he said this, Sirius leaned against his husband, knowing they were both desperate for a bit of physical comfort. Dealing with Harry's abuse would be tough for both of them because it would bring up all the bad blood they had accumulated over the years from their families as well, but they had no way of knowing that they'd gotten off lightly in comparison. While the cruciatus curse was much more painful than many of the things Harry had endured, it was something that Walburga Black had only dared use a few times on her first born, and Moony would have been howling in agony if Remus knew that Harry had spent an even greater amount of time than him being caged like an animal. For a while, both men were caught up in their own thoughts and worries about Harry, but they were abruptly jerked from these thoughts when there was a sudden shriek all through the house, as if someone were uprooting a mandrake, and Walburga Black was quick to join the cacophony of noise. As the two men ran towards the portrait, knowing that the portrait was somehow keyed into the wards, which was the only reason it hadn't been burned out of its frame, they were both surprised and horrified at what they heard the woman shouting.

"Call the healers you idiots," Mrs. Black screamed over the alarm, "Some fool is knocking on death's door and you're standing there catching flies!" At that moment, Kreacher apparated into the room and, after seeing Sirius and Remus, he shouted that he'd check all the other rooms while they looked in Harry's before quickly disapparating to another part of the house. The two men immediately ran up the stairs as fast as they could, hearing Kreacher pop in and out of rooms the entire time. When they saw that Harry's door was open, they nearly left before Remus heard what sounded like water coming from the bathroom. After he had time to think about it, Remus would admit that casting _bombarda_ at the door was a bit much but, at the time, Moony had gone into a frenzy when he realized that his cub was in danger, so rational thought was not an option. If anything, the smell of his cub's blood nearly drove the wolf insane, but the wizard was able to keep his head when he ran in to see that the tub was full of water that was getting darker by the second. He wasted no time in reaching in and dragging out an unresponsive Harry, not caring about anything except the fact that _his cub wasn't breathing_! While Sirius screamed for Kreacher to go get Poppy, Remus cast _Anapneo_ several times in the hopes that he could get at least some of the water out of his throat. At this point, Harry's lips were turning blue and both men racked their brains for anything that could help at all. It took a few precious moments, but Sirius remembered a spell that he'd had to learn during his Auror training to help someone who wasn't breathing. After sending a quick prayer to whatever gods he hoped were listening, Sirius jabbed his wand into Harry's sternum and cast _respiro_ to try and restart his godson's breathing. As red water started gushing from his mouth, Remus put him on his side so that it could all drain out without him choking on it again and when Harry took that first gasping breath, it was music to their ears. There was a loud crack as Kreacher apparated into the bathroom with a Poppy who was armed to the teeth with medical supplies. She, none-too-gently, shoved the men aside and knelt beside her least favorite patient.

"Oh Harry," she sighed. "I had hoped that you wouldn't have to come to me for anything other than a social call, but it seems like you're bound and determined to have me patch you up every few weeks at best." When Poppy saw his left arm, she froze for a moment before she turned to Remus and Sirius. "Did either of you know about this?" Her voice held all the warmth of a glacier, and both men felt very much like first years that had gotten hurt doing something monumentally stupid. Still, they were both Gryffindors, and they both summoned up enough courage to ask what she meant. "If you have to ask, then it's obvious that neither of you noticed that this poor boy was hurting himself on _your_ watch."

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Author's note: Why the hell are you reading this when I did a double update?! For Merlin's sake, stop wasting time and go read the next chapter!


	10. A Mother's Touch

Disclaimer: Since none of the HP books are rated NC-17, and the series is not just a collection of gay porn with plot on the side, it's pretty safe to say that I don't own the franchise. However, I do own the lullaby in this chapter, as well as the plot where Death is concerned, and I will happily sue the shit (or shite for those from over the pond) out of anyone who tries to steal them. That stuff is going directly into my own novella, so I will have a legal team all over anyone dumb enough to plagiarize.

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The darkness surrounding him reminded Harry of a crib mattress under the stairs, of long nights and longer days in spaces too small to breathe, and, for the first time since it was beaten out of him as a child, he cried. Harry's heart begged for any scrap of comfort, and yet it was bereft of hope. He had been too hurt by the world, so no one would ever be allowed close enough to light the dark and lonely places where he bottled up the pain inside. At least, that was what he thought before someone took him in their arms and held him. Try as he might to resist the warmth that enveloped his shivering soul, he could only fight against what he needed for so long. When Harry finally gave in and started to relax, he felt someone wipe his eyes and sing.

Don't cry little songbird,

Please don't weep,

For secrets you've never had to keep.

Don't cry little songbird,

Please don't cry,

And I'll sing you a lullaby.

As nightingales softly sigh,

My small canary,

Bid the day goodbye.

It's time for peace,

So do not fear the night,

For while the sun must sleep,

The stars glow bright.

So rest little songbird,

Close your eyes,

And dreams will paint

The moonlit skies.

Now rest little songbird,

And I'll sing,

Soft and sweet,

Of how I love you completely.

As nightingales softly sigh,

My small canary,

Bid the day goodbye.

It's time to sleep,

So do not fear the night,

For while the sun must sleep,

The stars glow bright.

When you sing,

Little songbird,

You hold the world at bay.

So beautiful and fragile

That you take my breath away.

So sing little songbird,

When morning bids you wake,

But tonight,

Let me sing for your sake.

The woman had a voice almost deep enough to be mistaken for a man, rolling over him like gentle thunder in a rain storm. As she held and rocked him like he'd only experienced as a baby, Harry opened his eyes and looked up at the woman who reminded him what it felt like to be truly loved. Her hair was a shining silver, face slightly wrinkled, in a way that made her look more wise than old, and her eyes… Her eyes had all the darkness and gravity of a black hole, but there was something so warm in her expression that told you she would be there for you, no matter what. A small smile played on her lips, but he could sense a deep sadness in her as she looked at him.

"Little master, do you know who I am?" she asked. At his look of confusion, she sighed and held him closer. "My beautiful baby boy, I have many names, but you would know me best as Death."

"Death? But you're so- so,"

"Motherly?" she asked. At his nod, she smiled a bit brighter than before. "Child, who better than a mother to put children to bed? Some run about for a long summer day, chasing the last golden rays until I swaddle them in moonlight. Some find dusk before ever knowing dawn. Some are so unruly that I must send them to bed with a mother's fury. And sadly, some come running to my arms, so that I may soothe the burns they've suffered at the hands of the sun. I am there for every babe, every child that the universe bore of stardust and good intentions will one day hold my hand as I guide them. It's true that I am as stern as I am loving, but then, all children should know that their mother's arms can be either haven or hell if they misbehave," she stated simply.

"But you called me master," Harry said, still in awe of the woman holding him as if he weighed nothing.

"And that you are, sweet one," she told him. "I love all my children, but the master of my heart can only be one babe strong enough to drive all his brothers and sisters into my embrace, and yet still be willing to give me his soul to spare them pain he knows all too well," Death continued to rock him, even as tears trailed down her cheeks, "Darling, know that I am so sorry that I failed you. Like every child dealt misfortune, I have wanted to take you away from the cruelty you were forced to endure. I- I have watched over you, felt every pain like it were my own, and often begged that you would fall into my arms, but, while I will always catch every angel that has suffered, I cannot pull them towards me anymore than they can escape what fate demands from them." As she kissed his forehead, Harry felt all the warmth that he had been denied for so long, and it made him both happy and drowsy. The gentle motion of Death's arms was lulling him to sleep, but when she noticed him start to nod off, she stopped and patted him on the cheek to keep him awake.

"Not yet dear, I need you to know what it means to have a place in my heart," Death said. When Harry forced his eyes open, she smiled at him before continuing on. "As my master, every once in a great while, you can ask me to stay my hand, or to take hold of another's soul. I cannot always agree with you, but, so long as your reasons are just, I will try to abide by your requests. However, know that the only soul that I will always be willing to let be or embrace is your own. If you truly desire to rest in my arms, I will come, but there will be a cost. Not to you... but to every soul you've given light to." His brow furrowed, and Death went on to answer the unasked question. "When a soul comes to me at the end of their day, I leave but a small shadow. However, should a soul be pushed my way before its time, every life they touched will know an even greater sorrow, and sometimes that darkness will lead others to me. I will take you if ever you truly want me to, but you must understand that the absence of your light before its time will bring many more into my arms as well."

"How could my soul make such a big difference?" Harry asked. Death's expression morphed into one of violent anger, and he would have been afraid if the arms around him were any less gentle than they were before.

"In all eternity, I have only wanted to beat a small number of my charges, but none more so than the ones that toy with the lives of others and make them doubt their own value! The day my hands reach your swine of an uncle, he will think that the hell he believes in is a playground compared to what I have planned! I will render the fat from his very bones to craft the candles that will roast his sorry hide, and he will learn quickly that my night terrors are the stuff of legends." The ice and steel in her tone could shatter the confidence of grown men, but all Harry heard was the righteous fury she displayed on his behalf. It was actually… nice, if a bit familiar. Something was clawing at the back of his sleepy mind, fighting to bring him to alertness, but even Harry couldn't stay completely awake in Death's embrace. Instead of trying to follow the niggling thought, he focused on her voice when she continued speaking.

"Harry, you perfect child, after everything you've been through, you've still maintained the thing that makes you blindingly brilliant. You would gladly trade your life and happiness for another's without a second thought, because you value the good you find in everyone, and that makes you priceless. There are too few among the world that deem others just as important as they are, but you bring out that quality in so many people. Ronald would have taken his family for granted until it was too late without you, Hermione would have never had the true friendship she needed to become the strong woman she is if you weren't there, the same goes for Neville, Sirius, Remus and Severus would have had no reason at all to go on after they lost Lily and James, and not to mention that all of England would have been taken over by many of my wayward children before the rest of the world decided to cut their loses and be done with most of the continent!" Death looked down at the precious boy in her arms and let him see the pride and love in her eyes, "You, heart of my heart, are the keystone that has held together so much good in the world. Even when you would doubt that people were worth saving, even when you knew you owed them _nothing_ , all it would take is the thought of a single child's future being ravaged by war and you would carry a burden too heavy for shoulders much wider than yours with a sigh and determination. _That_ is why your soul is so precious, because, for all the battering it's taken, you are still so fundamentally _good_ that most of the people around you can't help but be the same." Death held him tighter before setting Harry down on his feet and kneeling to look him in the eyes with her hands on his shoulders. "Harry, I wish I could keep you with me, but I know you're not ready, and there are so many people waiting for you to come back. Know that I love you so much, and that you will never be alone. I will be waiting to catch you if you ever need me, but I know that there are so many people who are willing to do the same so that you won't feel the need to call on me for a very long time." Death kissed his forehead one more time before she covered his eyes and whispered in his ear.

" _Sing, little songbird, for noon is far away, and dusk farther still, but daylight is upon you, and so your song has hearts to fill._ "

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Author's note: Well, chapter nine was a whiny little bitch and refused to write itself like this one did, so I apologize for the wait. _This_ chapter has been written for weeks, and I've been almost dying to post it because I really do want feedback on it. Like I ranted said in the disclaimer, my version of Death is going to be a key figure in the novella I'm writing, so I'd really like to know what you guys think I should tweak. Also, I'm going to release a recording of this lullaby, which is titled _Little Songbird,_ as soon as I can figure out Garageband (it actually works on my little brothers, as well as our two dogs). Chapter eleven is on the way, but it's being a little bitchy, so no promises on when I'll have it done, but it will have Harry waking up to the aftermath, as well as a very tough decision that he'll have to make.

P.S. =_= I know I told you people about the MPREG poll, so how come there are only two votes? I didn't want to do this, but I'm thinking that, if I have less than ten votes either way, I'm going to just go ahead and decide myself. Keep in mind that Remus really is the only thing I'm ever going to pull out of Sirius' arse, and that, in my story, the wizarding world would have come up with C-sections because of this. **The deadline for this poll will be by chapter thirteen!**


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